House Rules
by Mizu Iruka
Summary: Sam died with Mary on November 2nd, 1983. Actually, he was taken by Azazel and raised alongside the other psychic kids. It's all he's ever known, but then he meets a hunter named Dean. AU. Obviously.
1. Chapter 1

**House Rules**

* * *

Father would be so angry.

Sam pulled at the bindings fruitlessly before slouching back, eyeing the hunters in front of him. He couldn't really remember getting jumped, though that may have to do with the splitting headache he had, coupled with the trickle of blood above his left eye.

"What are we going to do with him?" the younger one asked.

"Exorcise him," the elder growled. Sam resisted the urge to laugh and instead tried to look as harmless as possible. If he could just scoot a little forward, his toe would be on one of the red paint lines. Scratch that away, and . . .

The younger one was shakily reading from a book. Sam thought about it briefly, and then snarled and whined like he was in pain. He waited a couple seconds before pulling his body taut, like the exorcism was doing something, and managed to scoot the chair forward just a bit.

He was severely regretting the fact that he hadn't gotten new shoes in a while. It wasn't like Father had wanted them drawing attention to themselves though, so Sam had been going around barefoot. No need to steal from the shoe store just because there were holes in his old ones. Now, no shoes meant no traction against the slippery paint.

"Dad, it's not working." So a father and a son. Cute.

Sam continued to rub at the paint with his toe, frustratingly feeling nothing being scraped away. Heavy duty spray paint. If he was really lucky, maybe Andy was having one of those I'm-going-to-follow-Sam-around-so-that-the-others- don't-pick-on-me days. Though the devil's trap might stop Andy from finding him, seeing as it was blocking Sam's abilities.

The older hunter's eyes were examining him sharply, and Sam looked at him blandly. Move along, nothing to see. If he could just get the paint scratched through . . .

"Cuff 'im," the hunter grunted, tossing a set of handcuffs towards the younger one. Sam nearly laughed aloud again until he saw the symbols scratched into the metal. He cursed under his breath, frantically shoving his toe at the line of paint, but nothing happened.

The younger man approached, eyes filled with something Sam couldn't quite recognize. He tilted his head, considering. It was quite possibly curiosity. Odd. Sam couldn't remember the last time he had been curious. That wasn't an emotion that Father appreciated.

"I am going to rip your intestines out," Sam threatened agreeably. He smiled. Sam knew from experience that acting calm and even happy tended to freak people out more than fury.

True to form, the hunter flinched, but his eyes hardened. "Sure, freak. Just after we find the right exorcism."

Sam wanted to tell them not to bother, because he'd tried everything himself, but didn't open his mouth. It wasn't like they would've listened.

"Dean, take him in the Impala. We're headed to Bobby's."

So the younger one was Dean. "Dean. Dean what?" Sam asked.

The father's face darkened, and Sam braced himself as a fist raked across his face. "Keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you," he growled.

Sam grinned at him, tasting the blood that probably stained his teeth. Thank goodness he hadn't lost a tooth with that punch. "You sure? I've got a great singing voice." Bantering was practically an art with demons. Sam was just glad none of the others were there to make fun of his attempts at bravado.

"Let's hurry up with this, Dean."

"Yessir." Dean yanked Sam to his feet, pulling him into the bright sunlight and shoving him into a nice looking car. One Sam probably would've stolen on a weekend out for kicks.

"It won't work," Sam said as he rested against the leather seat. He surreptitiously got out a paperclip and began picking the lock on his handcuffs. Funny, how hunters never expected demons to have paperclips. Then again, most demons did rely on their powers, ignoring the more practical measures.

"Sure."

"No really, it won't." Sam let his eyes drift to look at the passing countryside. That was the problem with teleportation, no chance to admire scenery. "I've tried."

"Demons lie," Dean snarled.

Sam smiled sadly. "Yeah, well, so they say." He glanced at the driver's seat, noting how tense the hunter seemed. "My name's Sam," he said for no reason. Unnecessary of him.

There was no response from Dean aside from a twitching of his shoulders.

* * *

Sam was bored. As it was, though, despite the fact that Sam could leave at any time, he was kind of intrigued to see if the hunters could do anything. Some days, Sam felt that he would do anything to get rid of the demon in him. Of course, that would leave him frighteningly vulnerable to Ava and the rest.

Sam finished picking the lock and loosened the handcuffs, just enough so he could slip out of them if needed.

A couple hours had gone by, with a few check-in phone calls from the dad.

"What's your dad's name?" Sam mumbled into the car window.

"John," Dean said, muttering to himself as soon as he revealed it.

"You been hunting long?"

"I'm not answering any more of your questions," Dean snarled. Sam noted that Dean's hands were white on the wheel.

"I'm bored, though," Sam complained, "the least you could do is answer a couple harmless questions."

The hunter quirked an eyebrow at him in the rearview mirror. "What kind of demon are you?" he asked incredulously.

Sam shrugged. "I'm not one. Thanks for asking, and tying me up. Appreciate it, really."

Dean's face darkened. "We saw you. And the omens pointed to you."

"I was going to the omens as well," Sam said honestly. Then he thought of a way out. "Y'know I'm a hunter as well."

The hunter snorted. "Yeah, that's why you were levitating things in that room."

And there went Sam's clever way out. He had thought they had discovered him and knocked him out after he got back to his motel room, but apparently not.

"Well, it was worth a shot."

The hunter seemed to be fighting a smile. "You must've missed the 'how to be a demon' day at school."

Sam thought briefly of the lessons he had gone through and smirked without humor. _"Top of the class, Sammy."_ "Yeah. Played hooky that day to go make out with a girl."

The hunter let out a surprised bark of laughter, and Sam found himself grinning, actually grinning, for the first time in months. Last time he had smiled was when Ava had gotten punished for her cruel prank on Max.

"If you weren't a demon, I'd say we should go play some pool or something," Dean grinned.

Sam's smile slid away. "Yeah, well. Can't help blood," he said dully. Maybe he should just leave. It wasn't worth having to deal with these people for the exorcism.

Before he decided to leave, they had pulled up at an old salvage yard.

"Don't try anything," Dean warned as he pulled him from the car.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam returned drily.

An older man greeted them, pointing a shotgun at Sam and gesturing them indoors.

"Keep an eye on him, Dean."

"I know."

Sam was pushed into the center of another devil's trap—this one on the ceiling.

"Well, let's get started."

Ten exorcism rituals later, and the hunters were getting desperate. Sam tiredly thought about slipping out of the cuffs and walking out of there, but he didn't really want to be shot. And the one called Bobby still had a decent hold on his shotgun.

"I don't know, kid. What's your dad doing?"

"Looking up a friend to figure out yet another ritual," Dean muttered.

Sam waited until the older hunter put down the gun, rummaging through his books, before he jumped out of the devil's trap, slipping off his cuffs.

"See you 'round, Dean," he grinned as he teleported. The last thing he saw on Dean's face was shock and fear. That was the combination Azazel always wanted, but Sam had never liked it.

* * *

"Took you long enough."

Sam blinked, scowling at the sight of Ava. "Long enough for what?" he snapped.

She rolled her eyes. "To get back. Father wants to see you, and he is not happy."

Sam swore under his breath and headed out, keeping one eye on Ava. Last week she had set a demon on Jake while he was asleep. Jake was still limping.

Sam knocked and waited.

"Come in."

"Father, you sent for me."

"You did not return on time."

Sam kept his eyes on the floor, like he was supposed to. "I ran into a complication, Father, but the ritual was completed."

"What complication was that?"

"Hunters, Father."

"What ones?" Azazel's voice snapped out like a whip.

"Their names were John and Bobby," Sam replied quickly. He withheld Dean's name. It was not necessary to put so young a hunter on Father's radar.

"John Winchester?" Azazel asked sharply. Sam shrugged his shoulders and received a bright flash of pain. "Use your tongue, boy," his Father snarled.

"I did not hear his last name, Father."

"You are dismissed, Samuel."

Sam left as quickly as possible, heading to the room he shared with his brothers.

"Sam got in trouble," Ansem sang out.

"Ansem, shut up," Andy snapped. Andy rolled over on his bed to stare at Sam with wide eyes. "He punish you?"

Sam quirked his mouth into a half smile. "Not this time."

"Guys, shut up and go to sleep. We've got a test tomorrow," Jake ordered. Sam raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Sometimes it was best to let Jake pretend he was in charge. Plus, if there was any sparring tomorrow, it was best to have Jake on his side.

Sam let himself sleep lightly, light enough to wake any noise. It would be like Ava to try to maim them before the test.

* * *

"Sam, if we team up can I—"

"Yeah, Andy," Sam said tiredly. "Your job is to keep Ansem from getting into my mind."

"Sure thing."

Sam glanced around at his siblings as they began to quietly form alliances. No one ever knew what Azazel had planned, so it was best to be as prepared as possible.

"Jake?" Sam called, putting the slight hint of a question in his voice. Jake nodded curtly and Sam smiled.

So he had Andy and Jake. He narrowed his eyes, picking out one of the girls. "Vicky," he murmured, "interested?"

She nodded, but pointed to Scott. Sam rolled his eyes but accepted. Scott was annoying to have on a team due to his flighty abilities, but he and Vicky were close and worked well together. If they weren't related, Sam would've guessed that they'd hook up. But Vicky's powerful mind reading would definitely come in handy, even if Scott's tendency to shock everything might trip them up.

"Well children, shall we begin?"

"Yes, Father," rang out in unison.

"This time, the test is one concerning the outside world."

Sam winced. Last time they had one of these tests, they had destroyed a whole town and then covered it up by creating a fake avalanche.

"No teams. Anyone alerts the hunters to who we are, and there will be . . ." Azazel paused, his yellow eyes raking them individually. ". . . punishment."

They all waited in silence for the instructions.

"Each person must convince a person to commit suicide. Andy and Ansem, you are required to do so without using mind control. To those of you who are beginners in mind control, you may test your abilities and use them."

Sam sucked in a breath, glancing around to see some of his siblings looking almost bored, some of them excited.

"You have the day."

Andy grinned at him. "Dude I've got this in the bag."

"Except for the part where you can't use mind control," Sam reminded him.

"Sam, you wound me. I don't need my abilities to convince people, y'know. Anyway, I'm off to search some bridges."

Sam bared his teeth in a brittle smile and watched as each person teleported away. Unfortunately, using powers for teleportation was based on distance, so that meant several people would go to the same place.

"Samuel, what are you waiting for?" Azazel asked sharply.

"Nothing, Father." Sam quickly teleported to the nearest town and stood uncertainly in the street. Pausing, he considered the problem. It was funny, but he had never been able to immerse himself like his brothers and sisters. He hated killing people. And he wanted to see Dean.

Mind made up, Sam teleported to the place where they had tried to exorcise him. Just to see if Dean was there. It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

"Bobby, did you move the motor oil?"

Dean was underneath his car. Sam crouched down.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean swore and smacked his head on the underside of the car, pulling himself out and fumbling for a gun.

"I just want to talk," Sam said softly. He remained in a crouch, calmly watching the gun being pointed at him.

"Yeah sure. What is it you really want?"

Sam put a hand on the ground and levered himself into a defenseless sitting position leaning against the car. "I dunno. But I didn't want . . ." he paused. "Never mind."

"Would this bullet kill you?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Yeah."

Dean blinked. "Really?"

Sam nodded and tilted his head to look at the blue sky. "I don't mind if you kill me. But I'd rather not go to Hell just yet."

To Dean's credit, he kept his guard up, even as he sat down near Sam. Not near enough for Sam's reach, though obviously Sam's telekinesis would overcome that difficulty.

"What are you really?"

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Wish I knew for sure."

"Why . . . why are you here?"

Sam pressed his lips together. "I wanted someone to talk to," he finally admitted.

"Oh." Dean's eyes caught Sam's and seemed to test them for truth. When he was satisfied, he looked away, the gun going lax in his fingertips. "Seeing as you could've killed me without even notifying me, we can talk."

Sam closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of the car's metal and the sun's rays. "What's your favorite thing to do, Dean?" he asked after a moment.

"I dunno. Uh, drive, I guess. Hunting's got its perks as well."

"The thrill of killing something?" Sam asked with a smirk.

"Guess. And knowing that I'm doing the right thing."

"That must be nice."

"Look, Sam—"

Sam blinked his eyes open and turned to Dean. "You remembered my name."

"Uh, yeah?" Dean wrinkled his brow. "Why, is that a problem? Or is that your fake name?"

"I . . . no." Sam traced his fingers through the dirt. "Just didn't think you'd remember."

"Do you want something to drink?" Dean asked after a moment.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, let the other hunter know I'm here. That'll be great."

"I won't."

At Dean's return, Sam opened his eyes, allowing himself to smile briefly.

"So, Sam, aside from levitating demonic objects and reading omens, what else do you do?"

Sam thought of the tests, of the deaths he had caused, of the torture he had undergone and practiced. His smile turned brittle. "Not much. I like to read."

Dean snorted. "Totally would not have been my call."

Sam shrugged. Books had always been an escape, and it was one of the few outside things that Azazel had allowed. The others had preferred different distractions, such as alcohol and drugs. Sam had stuck to books.

"What's your favorite book?"

"_The Hunchback of Notre Dame_."

Dean blinked at him. "Like the Disney movie?"

It was Sam's turn to blink. "What's Disney?"

Dean looked hilariously confused. "Uh, it's . . . well, it's just Disney. So it's a book?"

"Yeah. Victor Hugo."

Dean snapped his fingers. "Les Miz guy. Okay. Why do you like it?"

"It tells the truth." Sam rubbed his fingers together, uncomfortable at the turn in conversation.

Dean looked at him oddly. "What do you mean?"

"No happy endings, just pain and death," Sam said softly, fingering the hole in his jeans. He would have to steal new ones, soon.

"Aren't you a little ray of sunshine."

Sam snapped to attention. He had forgotten who he was with, for a second. "What would you say if I told you I was a demon's kid and I hate killing?" he asked casually.

"Does that mean you're a vegetarian?"

Sam was startled into a laugh, a true one, and it felt strange, ringing out. He stared, wide-eyed, at Dean, unsure of what any of it meant.

Dean shifted under his gaze. "Look, I'm not one for speech-making or well, monster philosophy or anything, but the way I see it, it matters what you do, not what you are."

Sam narrowed his eyes but secretly treasured the words. "You seem to be a pretty straightforward hunter. What makes you say that?"

Once more, Dean shifted, eyes darting away. "Well, I just don't see how a guy like you could be evil."

Sam found himself relaxing. "Thanks."

"No problem." Dean tossed him his coke.

"Holy water won't do anything, if you put some in," Sam commented.

"I didn't."

"Oh."

* * *

Somehow they ended up spending most of the day just relaxing together. Sam didn't quite know what to make of it, but he knew he liked it. He just wished he had more time.

Sam hesitated, before making the plunge. "I realize that this is just the second time we've met," he started, "but would you . . . would you do something for me?"

Suspicion re-entered Dean's demeanor. "What's that?"

Sam worried at his jeans. "I, uh . . . there's a decent chance that my Father will kill me. And I just . . . I don't want to come back as a ghost. So if you could burn my bones, that'd be great."

Dean blinked. "Wait, what? Why would he kill you?"

Sam smiled drearily. "I'm not the only kid. The others and I, we're given tasks to complete. More like tests, really. You fail, you're punished. Today's job was to convince someone to commit suicide. I didn't."

Dean was silent, so Sam stood.

"It doesn't matter if you do or don't. Just wanted to cover my bases, and there's no one else to ask, y'know? He'll probably take me to the nearest place of power." Sam rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a gum wrapper and the stub of a pencil and scribbling down quick numbers. "These are the coordinates. If you do show before he's done with me, don't interfere, or you'll be dead."

Dean seemed slightly shocked. "I don't . . ."

Sam interrupted him. "Thanks for talking with me. No one's done that before." He hesitated before reaching out—not missing Dean's flinch—and grasped the hunter briefly by the shoulder. "Hunt well."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam left. He hated goodbyes.

* * *

**A/N: **I think I've read several fics that have addressed concepts like this, but I wanted to try it out for myself. So this fic explores what might have been if Azazel had kidnapped the kids at six months instead of just giving them his blood. Honestly it would've made more sense, right? What better place to grow up as his perfect soldiers than under his instruction?

Look for updates every Saturday!

To my _Unseen_ readers, I hope you do like this story as well, but _Unseen_ will be on a slight hiatus until this story is completed. It'll give me a little time to catch up :)


	2. Chapter 2

If Dean Winchester was good at one thing, it was killing monsters. He had learned from the best, after all, and John Winchester was the best. The greatest thing about it was that it was black and white. Find the monster, kill it. No regrets.

But now, Dean had to admit, things were changing.

From his very first encounter with Sam, something had felt off. Sure, Sam had kept up the snark and sarcasm that normally characterized a captured demon, but as Dean had watched, he had noticed how fake it all was. Not fake as a cover for fear, but fake as if Sam was playing a part that he hated playing. And how . . . how tired he was.

And then, with Sam coming a second time, obviously just craving human company, holes in his jeans, bare feet scuffing the dirt . . .

Safe to say, Dean was screwed. He glanced at his cell phone, tempted to call his Dad, but resisting the urge. He hadn't told him about Sam, except for the basics he had learned at Bobby's; new type of monster, exhibits demonic powers, susceptible to human weapons, not demonic deterrents, devil's trap had some effect but did not contain the creature.

Nothing about their conversation. About how . . . human, Sam seemed. And how Dean couldn't help but want to trust him.

And now he was being an idiot and following Sam's instructions to the letter. It was probably a trap.

Still, Dean kept speeding to the coordinates. He was suicidal like that.

The location Sam had given him was in the middle of the forest. Dean got out of the Impala with a frown, and geared up for war: shotgun with salt rounds, pistol with iron bullets, silver knife, gasoline, first aid kit.

Dean reached the clearing the coordinates pointed him to. He set up camp in the underbrush, unwilling to expose himself, and waited.

He could've sworn there was no one there, but one second he blinked, and the next there were two figures. The tall lanky one he recognized as Sam, but the other was new.

"You know why you're here." The man's voice rang out and Dean shivered with the sheer power behind it.

"Will this be my execution?" Sam's voice was flat.

"No." A tense moment passed and even Dean could sense how charged the air was between them.

"Shall we begin?" the one asked softly.

"Yes, Father."

Dean had no way to know what would happen. He kinda expected a beat down of sorts.

Not Sam catching on fire.

In the midst of Sam's screaming and writhing on the forest floor, Dean had the inappropriate thought that he wouldn't have to burn Sam's bones if he died like that.

Quick as they had come, the flames disappeared, leaving Sam seemingly unharmed in their wake, bare skin flushed but not burnt.

"Do you find your punishment acceptable?" The . . . Father? asked.

Dean could see Sam's frantic nod. He then flinched as the man pulled out a whip.

Sam was a monster. Dean had known as much the first time he had seen him. By all the rules of Dean's life, he shouldn't care at all about the guy—thing. But he still had to bite down on his fist to keep quiet as the blows fell onto Sam.

It seemed an eternity later, after numerous other devices were used, that Sam's "father" was done.

"As further punishment, you may not return home for a couple weeks. Though that may be a kindness, ensuring the others do not use your weakened state to take advantage." In the blink of an eye, he had slammed a foot down on Sam's ribs. Dean could hear the crack from where he was and couldn't stop his own gasp, though it was covered up by Sam's strangled cry.

The man—if he could be called that—sounded amused. "Don't die. If you do, you know I'll see you down there."

Dean waited a total of five minutes after he had left before breaking down and rushing forward. He honestly did not even care if it was a trap.

"Sam?" he tried, touching one of Sam's shoulders. Shrugging off his jacket, he covered Sam up, not that there was anyone else to see his nudity. But he knew that he himself would only want to wake up naked if there was a girl involved.

"Sam, you in there?"

Uncomprehending hazel eyes blinked up at him. "Dean?"

"One and only. No offense man, but your dad's a jerk."

"Jerk," Sam repeated dazedly, "what?" he tried to move and whimpered.

"Don't move," Dean warned belatedly. "Dude, you could so use a hospital, but explaining this . . . Don't suppose you have any demonic healing powers, do you?"

"No hospital," Sam rasped, eyes gaining a little comprehension before rolling back in his head.

"Yeah. Didn't think so," Dean sighed.

He considered Sam carefully. The welts scattered among the deep bruises on Sam's back were oozing blood, but not to the point that blood loss would be a problem. The demonic symbols burned onto Sam's chest and his busted ribs meant a fireman's carry probably wouldn't be the best option.

Dean groaned as he scooped Sam up, even though for his height, the guy was surprisingly light. Malnutrition, from the looks of him.

"I am really glad this showdown location was not in the middle of a highly populated area," he grunted to Sam, "because me carrying you bridal style, naked, is not something I think either of us want publicized."

Thankfully the Impala wasn't far, and Dean managed to get Sam levered into the backseat, wincing slightly at the blood that was going to get all over the upholstery.

His cell phone ring made him jump. Dean quickly picked up, trying to compose himself.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" his Dad asked without any preface.

"What's up?" Dean neatly avoided answering his question.

"Got a job in Nevada."

"Uh, can't. Sprained my ankle pretty badly, may take a couple weeks to heal."

His Dad's voice came through steadily and Dean blinked at the easy acceptance of his story. "Fine. Use the new credit cards, they should last a while."

"Thanks Dad."

"Stay safe."

"You too." Dean hung up and glanced in his rearview window, scowling. "Hope you appreciate the fact that I just lied for you," he growled. His insides twisted. That had been the first time he had ever really lied to his Dad.

"No, don' hurt her, please. Jess."

Dean nearly crashed the car at the mumbled words. Worriedly, he took in the glassiness in Sam's gaze. Fever, probably. Great. Just . . . great.

* * *

It took three days for Sam's fever to break. Through it all, Dean was kept on tenterhooks, trying to keep Sam alive and keep him secret. The hallucinating didn't really help that.

"No, Jake, I won't let you."

Sam was in a corner, and from the look of it, halfway in to crazy town.

"I'm not Jake," Dean said patiently, holding his hands up. "Look man, just get back into bed."

"I won't let you kill him," Sam snarled. "You kill him and I'll rip you to pieces."

"Kill who?" Dean asked.

"Andy may not be strong, but you lay your hands on him and you'll wish you were never born."

"Andy, huh? Your friend?"

Sam blinked and seemed to process his words. "What's a friend?"

It was Dean's turn to blink. "Uh, well, a friend. Y'know, someone you hang out with. Care about."

Sam's laugh was bleak and hollow, and made something twist inside Dean. "Don't care about anything. You care and they'll rip it away. Tha's how it works, ya jus' . . ." His voice trailed off and he slumped down, breathing unsteadily.

"Easy, Sammy. Just come on." Dean held out a hand and tried not to feel too gratified when Sam immediately followed his lead.

"Dean?"

"Yup. Not Jake."

"Jake's here?" Sam immediately tensed up, eyes roaming the room like he was searching down the Jake character.

"No, dude. Relax, okay?"

"Can' relax or he'll kill you," Sam slurred. "But watch out for Ava. She's the wors'."

"That right?" Dean murmured, trying to feel not very ridiculous and failing as he tucked Sam in. "Why don't you just sleep, huh? I'll keep a lookout."

Sam's look was pathetically grateful, and he slipped in to sleep without further ado. Dean sat back with a huge sigh. He had no idea what he was doing.

* * *

Dean woke up with a jolt to find Sam staring at him.

"Sam?" he rasped, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Unfortunately." Sam's voice was tight with pain and something Dean couldn't identify and it was way too early for him to figure it out.

"Fever's broken?" he mumbled, reaching over to palm Sam's forehead and ignoring his flinch.

"What happened?"

Dean stood, stretching lazily and cracking his back with a nasty sound. "You got the beat down of the century. If that guy's your dad, then I take back every single bad thing I've said about mine."

Sam shrugged. "He's fine. I just broke the rules."

Dean threw him a sharp look, thinking briefly of the effects of abuse and Stockholm Syndrome and a host of other things, but didn't comment, moving into the kitchenette to fix coffee.

"Coffee probably isn't good for you right now," he said aloud, "how do you feel about orange juice?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam rubbing his forehead, pain obvious on his face. "Uh, yeah. I guess. What does orange juice taste like?"

Dean turned fully. "Dude. You've never had orange juice?"

"It's a drink," Sam said firmly. "I know that."

Dean tried not to be appalled but failed. "What else have you never eaten?"

Sam looked up at the ceiling. "I've read about, um, ice cream? Isn't that supposed to be good?"

"What do you normally eat?" Dean managed to ask, turning back to the small fridge and pulling out some OJ.

"Porridge. Bread. Some meat."

Dean handed him the juice, noting the trembling in Sam's fingertips and the lines that were probably for pain in his face. "That sucks. No wonder you haven't got any meat on your bones. You need to get some real food."

Sam's smile was weak. "Yeah." He sipped at the orange juice carefully. Dean caught Sam's rapt expression at the orange juice and decided that as soon as Sam was up to eating real food, he was going to have pie.

"Alright, let's check your back, shall we?" Dean avoided looking at the symbols burnt onto Sam's torso and focused on the long stripes that decorated Sam's back. He had stitched up the deeper ones, and the others were healing on their own.

Dean narrowed his eyes and looked closer. The fine white lines of previous scars were scattered underneath the newer cuts and scattered bruises. Dean felt his stomach clench uneasily.

"I don't . . ." Sam's back rose slightly with his words and then settled down. "What do you want to know?"

"Know?" Dean asked, focusing on the antibiotic ointment he was using and only halfway considering Sam's words.

"Do you . . . do you want information?"

"You've been beaten half to death, you have busted ribs, and you just got over a fever. Give yourself a break, man, and try to sleep."

"I just don't understand." Sam's bewildered mumble had Dean trying to see his face, but even as he re-bandaged Sam's back and turned him over, he wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Well, maybe you could start with the symbols on your chest," he murmured. "What are they?"

Sam glanced down and tilted his head. "They're just symbols of pain and control. It's no big deal."

"No big . . ." Dean huffed and decided to turn to an easier subject. "Alright, you want me to ask questions, I can do that," he said. "What's your favorite movie?"

"Never watched any."

Dean looked at Sam and felt a sudden rush of sadness that a kid like him could be so lost and in such a strange place. How old was he, anyway? From his face, Dean'd guess late teens, but his eyes were so old and tired.

"Well budge over, Sammy. We've got some education to get done here."

He got a startled glance. "What did you call me?"

Dean quickly re-skimmed what he just said and winced. "Sorry, just came out. Tend to call people nicknames by accident. I won't do it again."

"No, it's . . . it's fine." Sam picked at the bed sheet and glanced sideways at Dean. "I don't mind. I don't let the others call me that. But you can."

All Dean could do was nod in acknowledgement.

He switched on the TV and began to wax eloquent on his favorite flicks, ignoring the knowledge that he was just becoming a motor-mouth to avoid thinking about anything.

* * *

"There's thirty of us," Sam suddenly blurted out during a lull in the current movie—marathon of Star Wars, obviously the first thing on the list—and Dean blinked from his admiration of Leia and looked at Sam.

"Huh?"

"Thirty of us. The special children." Sam spat out the name like he hated it.

"Um. Okay. Why?"

Sam looked at him like he was stupid. "That's what this is for, right? Get me to get my guard down and reveal everything. But I don't care, I'd betray all of them in a heartbeat. Just . . . give Andy a chance, will you?"

"Dude. I'm not doing this for information."

"Then why?" Sam snapped defensively, obviously five seconds from running if his injuries had allowed.

"You just seem like a decent guy who's been stuck in a bad situation," Dean fumbled for an explanation. "Just feel like you should get a chance."

Sam sank back, hand on his chest like it pained him.

"Want painkillers?"

Sam shook his head sharply. "No."

"Why not?"

"Can't let guard down," he said tightly.

Dean once more felt appalled but had no way to show it aside from sighing. "I'll keep watch. Seriously. You'll be fine."

"That's what people say when they're lying," Sam mumbled, "I read it in a book."

"Yeah, well, don't believe everything you read." Dean held out the pills, and Sam took them, dubious expression on his face, but still. Baby steps, in Dean's opinion.

Sam drifted off to sleep, and Dean drifted off into thought. From the sound of it, Sam had grown up in a horror house and had never been let out. He was just surprised that Sam wasn't a full-out psychopath; though the other so-called "special children" were, which was interesting.

* * *

Despite all of Dean's reservations and fears about what he was doing, it was remarkably easy to take care of Sam. It just felt . . . natural.

"So, pizza?"

Sam was still laid up because of his ribs, but had managed to make his way to the bathroom and back a couple times.

"Um, sure."

Dean was getting pretty good at reading Sam's moods after a week and kept it casual, throwing over his shoulder, "so what's up?"

"Nothing."

"Sure," Dean drawled. "That's why you're fidgeting like you've got ants in your pants."

"I just really want to know what you're going to do with me."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Eat pizza?"

Sam tried to push himself up and ended up going white and grimacing in pain. "Gah. No, but . . . after. Do you want to . . . use me?"

Dean nearly choked. "Use you?"

"My powers," Sam clarified.

"Dude, no."

"Then why. Why keep me, why help me heal? It doesn't make any sense," Sam snapped.

"No one's ever just done something to be nice?" Dean asked incredulously. "I just want to help."

Sam sneered, "yeah, sure. There's always a price, though. I'll figure yours out."

Dean scowled. "Whatever. That's gratefulness for you."

"Grateful? I'm grateful when Father is happy and leaves us alone. I'm grateful when Ava doesn't kill me in my sleep. I'm not grateful for being pulled along and toyed with for no viable reason."

Dean gave Sam a hard look. "You done? Because I really want some pizza."

Sam's anger dissipated and turned into uncertainty. "I'm just tired of waiting. What do you want?"

"Like I said. Pizza." Dean got to his feet. "I'll be back soon."

"Oh. I . . . okay."

Dean flashed Sam a grin and slipped out.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised when he came back to find the room empty. He swore rather colorfully and kicked the bed before glancing around. Unless Sam used some freaky powers, he had to be close.

Thankfully it was winter, and the layer of snow on the ground meant it was easy to pick up Sam's trail as it led into the forest.

"Sam!"

Dean noted worriedly that Sam's footsteps were obviously unsteady and if he hadn't known better, he would've thought he was following someone who was drunk.

"Sam?"

A small cough drew him forward to find Sam collapsed against a tree.

"Dude, you are a complete idiot," he snarled, dropping to his knees and feeling the cold snow melting through his jeans. "I'm not going to do anything to you, okay? Get that through your thick skull right now."

Sam's eyes were mere slits, but he managed a jerky nod.

"Good. Now, let's get you back." Dean levered Sam up, taking most of his weight as they hobbled along.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled in his ear.

"Yeah, bitch. I'm going to wrench out my shoulder because of you," Dean grumbled, his breath misting in front of his face.

"Are you angry?"

"No, man," Dean said sadly. "And maybe someday you'll get that."

* * *

**A/N: **I believe I failed to mention the planned length of this story . . . I think it's going to be six chapters. 80% sure.

To the guest who commented on the swiftness of Sam's return to Dean, that is partly due to the fact that this will not be a super long fic, and partly due to the fact that I prefer Sam and Dean together rather than apart. Maybe it was too quick, but I'd like to think that even a Sam who had grown up in captivity could still be able to seek goodness and hate evil. (Plus, in that scenario, he would always have the advantage. Not like Dean could've done something to Sam, what with Sam's powers and all).

And the emotional romantic part of me would like to think that Sam and Dean would feel some connection, even though they don't know they're brothers yet.

Until next saturday! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Being unsure, being confused, or even being curious was dangerous. It meant an opening for the others to rip you apart. Sam would always remember when he was five, and he had hesitated in hitting Jake during sparring, because he had known the strike would break Jake's jawbone.

Jake's punch had given him a concussion.

It was frightening, having that hesitation all over again. No matter what questions he asked, what hints he dropped, Dean didn't seem to have any agenda at all. A whole week had passed almost enjoyably, despite the continuous pain. And to boot, Dean seemed to care that he was in pain and did everything to get him out of it. Not that anything would've helped; the spell on Sam's chest made sure of that.

But it was nice, having someone take care of him. And that was what scared Sam the most.

"How do you feel about chinese?"

Sam furrowed his brow, looking up from the book Dean had gotten him. "The language? I don't speak it."

Dean rolled his eyes, a motion that was becoming familiar. "The food, genius. You like?"

"Uh, no idea."

"Throw me the phone, I'll order some," Dean said exasperatedly, though Sam could hear the humor behind it.

Without thinking, he levitated the phone over to Dean. At Dean's shock, he lost control, dropping the phone and flinching back. "Sorry, I didn't mean . . . it was just habit, I'm sorry," he apologized desperately. He hadn't used his powers the entire week, and then he had to go and do something like that.

Dean's expression was shaky, but he threw Sam a smile, which was confusing. "Hey, man, don't worry about it, that was cool. Just not outside the room, huh?"

"Y-yeah, sure thing," Sam stammered. There was a pause that wasn't awkward. It was just a pause.

"Sam, who's Jess?"

The question came out of nowhere, and Sam felt the blood drain from his face. Dean immediately backtracked.

"Never mind, don't worry about it. Just heard you say her name in your sleep. Uh, that sounded creepy. Forget about it."

Sam rubbed a hand over his eyes. He owed Dean everything, he could at least give him this. "She was . . . well, I ran away. When I was sixteen. I don't know how I managed it, or if Father actually deliberately let me go, but I met Jess, and she . . . we . . ."

"Fell in love?" Dean supplied, tone surprisingly gentle.

Sam nodded and tried to sit up, wincing as it pulled on his chest. "And, well, obviously Father didn't like that. So he killed her, and I couldn't—" Sam clenched his fists.

"I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I'll always be," Sam said tightly.

"How long did you get with her?"

"A week before they caught up with us," Sam murmured. He didn't say how he had dreams of her death the whole time before that, keeping them one step ahead each time until he slipped, distracted by Jess and how happy she was. And then she was dead.

Sam didn't really know how to cope with being happy. He supposed that showed how messed up he really was, but deep down, he almost longed for violence and suspicion. It was so much more natural. This, this easy affection, the smiles, the joking around set him on edge, made it hard to keep up.

Deeper down, he was treasuring every moment though.

Halfway through the second week, and Sam knew he could go back. He was healed enough to walk around, maybe not hand-to-hand combat, but that's what telekinesis was for, after all.

But he stayed.

* * *

"What is it you want?"

Sam canted his eyes towards Dean. "How are you paying for all of this?" He glanced around the crowded room and resisted the urge to run away. Panicking would not be a great way to repay Dean's kindness to him. But large crowds . . .

Dean smirked and looked down. "Credit card fraud."

"Ah." Sam looked back down at his menu, trying to figure out what an omelet was so he wouldn't have to ask Dean. Maybe he would just go for it. "I'll get the omelet."

"Sounds good," Dean cheerfully said, taking a sip of his coffee.

A wave of hot-cold washed over Sam and he shut his eyes, pressure building behind them. The scene played out in his head: demon would come over in the waitresses body, flirt and pretend for a second while trying to get some dirt on Sam, and then kill Dean and order Sam to come back.

"Dean," he said softly. He glanced around before focusing back on the hunter. He sighed. "I'm sorry I have to do this to you. But _don't speak_." He layered the last two words with a true command. Andy had taught him well.

Dean didn't speak a word, though his eyes were filled with confusion and anger.

"Well, sweethearts, what can I get you?"

Sam lifted his hand and twisted it, taking control of the demon. He grinned, a cruel motion of his mouth that was nothing like the smile he had given Dean earlier. "Hello, _sweetheart_. If you don't mind, I'd like you back in Hell."

The waitresses smile was gone, twisted in rage. "You wouldn't dare. You are in disgrace."

"That I may be, but when it comes down to me versus you, who do you think Azazel will choose?" Sam snarled, yanking her form closer so they were eye to eye. The waitress's eyes went black but Sam didn't flinch.

"So who's your friend?" she asked with a smirk.

Sam shrugged carelessly. "How should I know? I just needed someone to get me food. Needed to work on my mind control." He turned to Dean. "_Say hello_."

Dean's voice was choked. "Hello."

"Cute." The waitress twitched. "You've made your point, Sam. I will not interfere."

"Tell Azazel I will be another three days. Then I will return." He kept his face a mask and stared at the demon.

"Very well."

Sam released her and watched carefully as she left. Then he released the mind control on Dean and cowered. "I'm sorry. Please, forgive me, I just didn't know what else to do."

Dean's own face was a mask. "What was that?"

Sam looked at him hesitantly, barely managing to meet his eyes. "Um, which part. The demon, or the, uh, mind control?"

Dean leaned forward, face still closed off. "No. I want to know really, what you are. Because what you just showed me was you being a demon. And if that's really you, then . . ." Dean let his words hang there.

Sam gestured helplessly, looking down at the tabletop. "I hardly know what I am. But what you just saw, that's what I don't want to be, but I have to so I can survive." He paused, twisting his hands together nervously.

"What can I get you boys?"

Sam snapped his head up to take in their real waitress.

"We'll get two omelets to go."

Sam waited, feeling like he was waiting for one of Father's punishments as they got their food and left.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked in a small voice as soon as they got back to their motel.

Dean sighed. "Get in the room."

Sam obeyed without hesitation, turning to face Dean once he was inside, but keeping his posture as humble and small as possible and sinking to perch on the end of the bed.

"If you think I might kill you, why do you stay with me?"

Sam chanced a look up. Dean's face wasn't angry, wasn't upset at all, just . . . intense.

"Because I like having a . . . a friend," Sam said honestly.

Dean looked like he was processing that. "Even if you think I'll kill you at any moment?"

Sam nodded. "Why would that be a problem?"

"Because friends don't kill each other at random," Dean said.

Sam cocked his head. "Don't they?"

"Man, you are so screwed up," Dean muttered under his breath, but Sam caught it anyway. Good hearing was essential when a sibling was trying to sneak up on him.

"I know. But I'll do anything to stay for a few more days. Please. Anything at all."

"Promise me you won't use that mind control on me again. That's it."

Sam nodded. "Of course. Promise."

Dean looked at him sideways. "And if you don't mind, I'd like a run-down of your powers."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Well, there's the telekinesis. And the mind control. I kinda have telepathy, though I'm not very good." He noticed Dean's narrowed eyes and winced. "No, I haven't tried to read your mind. Um, and my strongest power would be the premonitions I get."

Dean tilted his head. "Like visions?"

Sam nodded. "They used to be more random and uncontrolled, but I've trained, and I can control it. In the restaurant, for example, I got one about the demon, because subconsciously I sensed there would be a threat, and then saw the vision. That's why I used the mind control, so she wouldn't kill you."

Dean 'huh'd.

"My powers don't work in devil traps, if you'd like to draw one," Sam offered.

"That's okay."

"I have three days left," Sam said after a slight pause. "Would you . . . would you like me to leave?"

Dean considered him. "Only if you'd like to leave."

Sam shook his head immediately and Dean barked a laugh, leaving him lost.

"What?"

"You're so . . . I don't think I've met anyone as complex yet simple as you."

Sam frowned. "Is that a bad thing?"

Dean's laugh was even more relaxed, and Sam felt his tension leaving. "Naw, man. Aside from the demon thing, you're all good." Dean actually ruffled his hair as he passed Sam. Sam promised himself not to screw up the next three days. He wouldn't.

* * *

"You sure this'll work?" Dean's voice was loaded with skepticism, and Sam smiled briefly.

"No. It's not foolproof, but it helps."

"I'm meditating," Dean said flatly. "I think I'm getting hives."

"Just relax and focus on the object."

Dean glared at his ring like it had personally offended him, and Sam choked back a laugh.

"Alright, I'm going to try." Sam concentrated and found himself staring at Dean's very . . . well, very terrible wall. He easily scaled it and jumped down on the other side, to find himself in a street outside of a burning house. He pulled back with a sigh. "It didn't work. You're not concentrating hard enough. Think of me as a threat."

"Wait, I couldn't even tell you were in my head!" Dean exclaimed. "What did you see?"

"Nothing," Sam reassured him. "I drew back as soon as I got past the wall."

Dean frowned. "I didn't picture a wall."

"It's not about what you picture. Your initial defenses are what I see, and if I were to see them as prison walls, that would be me realizing there was no way in. Once I'm in your head, then I see what you are really thinking."

"Alright, again."

Once more, Sam hopped the wall. This time, there was a graveyard. Sam was about to leave, but two graves were standing out and his curiosity got the better of him.

Mary Winchester. Beloved wife and mother. Samuel Winchester. Beloved son and brother. November 2nd, 1983.

Sam pulled back with a start and stared at Dean. "I . . . I."

"What?" Dean glowered.

"I'm sorry," Sam stuttered. "I didn't mean to see it."

"See what?"

"Your mother and brother. They died on the same day?" Sam asked quietly. Dean's face paled and he pushed to his feet.

"That's it. Enough of this. I'm going to the bar."

Sam bowed his head and shrank back, ignoring the twinge in his chest. This was his last day.

"You wanna come with?"

Sam jerked his head up, staring at Dean. "Really?"

Dean was fidgeting with an expression that Sam had come to learn meant he was uncomfortable. "If you'd like?"

Sam shot to his feet. "Yeah, I'd . . . I'd like that."

The bar was crowded, and Sam cringed, keeping close to Dean. "What'll you have?" Dean threw over his shoulder.

"Just . . . just a coke," Sam replied, twisting his fingers together until it was almost painful.

Dean smirked. "Is that your new favorite drink?"

Sam shrugged. "I've liked most everything."

"True enough." Dean's grin was easy, and Sam found himself mirroring it.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam's jump when a glass crashed.

"I haven't been around a lot of people much," he explained.

Dean grinned. "Stick close to me. I'll protect you from the scary humans," he joked.

"Shut up," Sam laughed.

They ended up having a fantastic night, in Sam's opinion. He used his telekinesis to win Dean several games of pool and get him some cash. Dean smiled most of the night.

As they went back to the motel, however, Sam knew his grace period was over.

* * *

Lying in the dark, Sam listened to Dean's breathing and felt that he was still awake.

"Dean?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean's voice floated back.

"What should I do?"

The rustling of sheets meant Dean was moving, but Sam didn't look at him.

"Do with what?"

"When I return."

"Who's saying you have to? Just stay."

Sam's heart clenched painfully. "They'll kill you. I can't."

Dean was silent.

"I don't know what to do, when I return. I don't want to be who I've grown up being. But I'm not strong enough to defeat them all."

Dean's sigh was heavy. "I don't know, Sam. But if you're looking for instruction, I'll just say for the moment, do what it takes to stay alive."

"Oh. I thought you'd say something else," Sam murmured.

"Yeah, well. It may not be right, but stay alive. We'll figure something out."

Sam turned in his bed, blinking. "We?"

"Yeah. We."

Sam smiled privately. Once Dean was asleep, though, he got up.

"Goodbye," he whispered.

* * *

"Baby comes crawling back, all healed up."

Sam didn't react to Jake's derisive comment and turned to go to the sleeping quarters. The second before it happened, he foresaw Jake would attack him.

"Feel like sparring?" he heard, and was shoved sideways into a wall. Sam twisted around, slamming an elbow into Jake's throat, finding his brother's arm and pulling it back into a hold.

"Not at the moment," he snarled.

Jake's dark eyes were calculating. Sam had always wondered how, if they were all related, they managed to look so dissimilar. Though who knew, maybe Azazel had been using different vessels each time he, well . . . Sam cut off the thought.

"What have I missed?" he asked.

"Lily accidentally gave Vicky a heart attack. She'll live, though."

"Hmm." Sam released Jake and rolled his neck. "And any tests?"

"Just training."

Sam felt himself relaxing slightly. That was a good start.

"Sam, Azazel wants you."

Sam turned to the lower demon, sneering slightly. "That right? Well go on, then."

"Better hope he doesn't punish you again," Jake smirked.

"Uh uh."

Sam reluctantly went up the stairs, noting newer bloodstains leading up.

"Enter."

He took in the scene carefully, and tried to keep his horror and distaste off of his face. Even after nineteen years, it was difficult to get used to that much blood.

"Ah, Samuel. So glad you could join us."

"Hello, Father." Azazel had an old woman as a vessel, which was slightly disturbing, but not as bad as when he had used a child before.

"Samuel, my boy. I just need you to finish this one off for me, alright?"

Sam considered the dying woman carefully and bent down. He communicated to her telepathically. "I'm sorry. I'll make this quick."

He saw the thanks in her eyes before he squeezed at the woman's brain stem, causing immediate death.

"Very clean. So, how was your time on the outside?"

"I am happy to be home," Sam dodged.

"Good. Things are going very well."

"I am glad to hear that, Father."

"Expect extensive training tomorrow. You are dismissed."

Max was waiting at the foot of the stairs. "How come you're the favorite?" he muttered. "Any of us screwed up like you had and we'd be dead."

"I dunno," Sam snapped. "Get out of my way."

Max snorted and twisted away. "Better watch your back, Sam."

"Always do," Sam returned. As one of his sisters passed by, he tapped her arm. "Hey, have you seen Andy?"

Her look was amused. "You've been gone for too long, Sam. Andy and Ansem have made up. Quite the team they make, the twins."

Sickened, Sam turned away. Two weeks he had been off enjoying himself, and Andy was gone.

"Andy?" he tried the sleeping quarters.

"Sam." Andy's voice was distinctly cool. "So you're not dead."

"Not yet, anyway." Sam slunk into the room, finding his bed had been burnt rather badly and flopping down on Scott's instead. There was a tingling electricity in the sheets.

"What'd Father do to you?" Andy's interest was getting the better of him.

"Lit me on fire. Beat me up."

When Sam glanced over, Andy's eyes were wide. "He burned you?"

Sam nodded.

"How'd you survive?" Andy whispered, kind of like he was afraid of someone else. Probably Ansem.

"Human found me, didn't know what I was. By the time they fixed me up, I was able to use mind control. Owe you for that one, Andy." Sam tipped his head and Andy softened even further.

"You staying?"

Sam paused, the possibilities opening up. There were times when individuals would wander and have time to themselves; otherwise they would all go insane and kill each other (more than they already did). There was no rule against him going to visit Dean.

"Yeah, so long as I don't screw up," he said aloud.

"Cool."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for sticking with me, guys! It's slow progress, but it's getting there. Please review, let me know what you think!

'til next week :)


	4. Chapter 4

Dean hadn't known what to expect when he opened his eyes in the morning, but he had an inkling that Sam would be gone . . . and he was. Slowly, he got up, none of his previous energy the other mornings infusing him. It was time he moved on. Hunted again.

Still, he hesitated as he made Sam's bed. The kid should be nothing to him, yet Dean still wanted to know he was okay, wanted to keep him away from his demon father.

Mentally, Dean shook himself. He had always kept himself from getting attached—the least he could do was live up to his reputation.

"Hey Bobby, you have a job for me?"

Dean grinned at Bobby's annoyed grumblings at Dean's silence. Finally, a job was offered: possible wendigo in Colorado. Day or two drive.

Somehow, the hunt didn't create the thrill in Dean that it had before. He began the long trek into the forest, hefting his flamethrower, but his thoughts kept drifting to what Sam might be doing, if he was alive.

Dean needed to get his head in the game.

The thought came too late, however, as the wendigo pounced on him, sending the gun flying. Dean roared in pain as it dug long claws into his leg. Next thing he knew, he was being dragged, probably back to the wendigo's lair.

Dad's going to kill me, was the last thing he thought before his head snapped against a rock and blackness came.

* * *

When Dean woke up, he was strung to the rafters of an abandoned mine.

"Great," he muttered aloud. There was no sound, aside from a whimpering, and Dean nearly wrenched his neck as he saw another victim. "Hey," he whispered. "Hey, you okay?"

The kid didn't stop whimpering, and Dean winced. Glancing upward, he realize with a sinking heart that the ropes were tight and there really was no way out.

A shifting from beyond the darkness made both Dean and the boy still.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked. He must be hallucinating. "Sam?"

"Hey. So is this what hunters do for fun?" Sam asked.

"Wha—"

"Easy." Sam sliced the ropes holding Dean up, catching him as his legs collapsed. "I'll get you out of here."

"Wendigo," Dean mumbled.

"Wendigo?" Sam questioned. Dean felt him manhandling him so his face was tilted up. "Help me out here. What's going on?"

"Hunting wendigo," he mumbled. "Get kid."

Sam glanced to the right. "Why? He's close to death anyway."

Dean glared. "Do it."

Sam let go of his shoulders, and Dean worked hard not to topple over. Even as Sam moved over to the kid though, another shadow began to move. Dean's cry of warning was almost too late, but Sam dodged behind the dangling boy, meaning the kid got the worst of the blow. The scream ripped out from the boy's throat was an awful, echoing sound.

"I'm sorry," Dean heard, and suddenly the scream stopped. And all noise stopped.

Dean strained his eyes, looking, and found Sam with one hand outstretched, holding the wendigo in place. A twitch of his fingers, and the wendigo was dead.

"C'mon, I'll get you out of here." Sam was next to him, hands tight around Dean and his eyes screwed shut.

Next thing Dean knew, they were next to the Impala.

"What did you just—"

"Teleportation," Sam gasped. Dean blinked as Sam slid to the ground, panting softly. There was blood dripping out of his nose. "I'll help you, just give me a second."

Dean tried to put weight on his leg and swore as his wounds made themselves known.

"Don't move. I can help, I . . ." Sam shuddered, face a picture of pain. "Alright." It looked like it cost him a lot, but Sam got to his feet, opening the Impala's door and helping Dean into the backseat. Dean tried to protest, but something was settling over him that hinted of shock and blood loss.

"It'll be okay. We'll be fine," Sam promised from the front seat, and Dean closed his eyes.

When he opened them next, Sam was kneeling on the floor next to him, looking anguished.

"Dean, pay attention. You're on meds, your leg should be fine. I have to go, or . . ." Sam swallowed, glancing away. "I'll be back, okay? Keep this on you, and I'll be able to find you. It was already yours, I just put a spell on it. If, uh, you don't want me to find you, spill some of your blood on it and it'll break the spell." Sam pressed something small into his hand. "I called a friend of yours to help you. You're going to be fine. I'm sorry about the kid, I wasn't fast enough."

Dean was figuring out how to get his mouth to work when Sam disappeared. Weakly, he swore, flopping his head against the pillow in frustration.

The object in his hand was vaguely familiar. Dean could remember Bobby giving it to him to give to his Dad, but he had forgotten about it and it had been shoved in a corner of his duffel. The bronze amulet glinted slightly from its cord. After a moment's hesitation, Dean slipped it over his head.

* * *

A knock on the door had Dean flinching with a slight groan.

"Dean, you in there?"

"Come in," Dean called.

Bobby entered, a patented scowl on his face. Dean interfered before he could get a lecture. "Salt the windows and door?"

"Oh, boy, you better tell me what's going on," Bobby groused, even as he moved to obey. "Got some call from a frantic kid telling me to come to here, and you're bedridden."

"Wish I knew. On a hunt with a wendigo, let it get the drop on me, and then I was saved by Sam."

Bobby turned to face him. "Sam?"

Dean winced. He had to come clean to somebody. "That demon kid thing we tried to exorcise a while back."

Bobby gaped at him. "You're joking."

"He seems to like me," Dean smiled weakly.

"Oh, I thought you were smarter than this. Dean, you know he's just playing games with you. This is probably a trick to get you hurt. We have to put up wards, and . . ."

"It's not, Bobby. I can tell," Dean defended, sitting up slightly in his bed. "Trust me, I thought the same thing when he came back and talked to me, but there's something different about the kid."

"You idjit," Bobby growled, "That's just what he wants you to think. And then he's going to tear you apart. What if this is some way to get to your daddy?"

"It's not." Dean settled back with a scowl himself. There was no way to prove Sam's innocence to Bobby, and he wasn't going to waste his time trying.

* * *

Dean was up and walking in three days, during which Bobby had refused to leave, despite all of Dean's protests to the opposite.

It was then that Sam chose to reappear.

One second he and Bobby were watching the game, the next Sam was standing in front of them.

"Hey," Sam mumbled, raising a hand.

Bobby, in that time, had already reached for his shotgun. Dean shouted a warning, but the blast went off anyway, slamming into Sam and sending him sprawling.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, scrambling to get to him, despite the twinge of pain in his leg.

"Dean, get away from him!"

Dean ignored Bobby, dropping painfully down onto his knees besides the younger man. Sam's eyes were wide. "Dea—" he started.

"Shh. Easy." Dean pried up Sam's t-shirt, relieved to find Sam's torso just damaged on the surface. Like most hunters, Bobby kept rock salt in his shotgun. Not enough to kill any human, just enough to hurt quite a bit.

"Dean, get away from him!" Bobby snapped, yanking at Dean's shoulder.

Dean snarled and pulled away. "You shot him!"

"Yeah, ya idjit, and I will again."

"You better not." Dean placed himself in front of Bobby, keeping Sam behind him. "Or you and I will have some issues."

Bobby looked dumbfounded.

"Dean, don't." Sam's voice was unnervingly calm, for having just been shot with rock salt.

"Sam, let me handle this," Dean replied.

"I won't mess up your life, Dean. I'll go."

Dean turned at that, grabbing Sam's arm. "Don't you dare."

Sam's emotional hazel eyes stared up at him, the guilt shining in them. "I'm sorry."

And Dean was suddenly grasping air. He swore loudly, twisting to face Bobby.

"Now look at what you've done," he snapped, his rage breaking free. "Who knows if he'll ever come back again, and I have no way of contacting him."

"It's for the best," Bobby doggedly maintained, but Dean could see some doubt in his eyes.

"And how do you know that? Have you even given him a chance?" Dean reached up involuntarily to grasp at the amulet around his neck.

"He's a demon, Dean," Bobby argued. "How could he be anything good?"

"Because he's not. Not all the way," Dean returned. "You've heard Pastor Jim talk before, 'bout how not all monsters are necessarily evil. I thought you agreed with him."

Bobby shifted uncomfortably.

"I need you to leave," Dean said coldly. "Come back when you have proof Sam's evil."

Bobby left without another word.

* * *

Dean waited on tenterhooks for a week before Sam reappeared. If it hadn't been for his decently-developed reflexes, he might have missed him altogether. A feeling of being watched had him glancing towards a nearby alley, and as soon as he had turned the corner, he had whipped right back around in a sprint. He slammed into a solid body, sending them to the ground.

"Sam?"

"Hey Dean." Sam squirmed out. "Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah, well . . ." Dean punched Sam in the arm, eliciting a yelp. "That's for disappearing."

Sam turned stricken eyes on him. "I'm sorry."

"You tend to say that about everything," Dean observed. "Now, what's going on?"

Sam blinked. "Nothing?" he asked hesitantly.

Dean sighed. "Nothing, shmothing. What had you hightailing it out of there, both times, huh?"

"Your friend didn't like me. And if I'm gone for too long, the others will notice."

"So you're not hurt, aside from Bobby's welcoming gift?" Dean checked.

Sam smiled wryly. "No one knows about this, yet. I'd like to keep it that way."

Dean blew out a breath in relief. "Right. Well, we need a way for me to contact you. You might've been dead."

Guilt wouldn't leave Sam's face. "I don't know any spells for that. Uh, not ones that don't require a sacrifice."

Dean rolled his eyes to hide his wince. "Not everything has to be demonic. It's called a cell phone."

"Right." Sam's fingers were picking at a hole in his sleeve. "Is that the communication device people hold to their ears?"

Dean barked out a laugh.

* * *

In spite of the inauspicious start, the two of them managed to have a decent evening, grabbing a cell for Sam and getting dinner. Dean introduced Sam to the wonders of hamburgers, and Sam told him about a technique he had found for exorcising demons in half the time normal.

But all too soon, Sam was leaving.

"Can you carve out at least a couple hours tomorrow?" Dean asked. "We need to talk about some things."

It was a testament to how messed up the kid was that Sam looked unnerved. "Uh, sure. I think. It'll be late, though."

"That's fine." Dean hesitated before drawing Sam into a hug. "Take care of yourself, man," he said gruffly after releasing Sam.

Sam grinned at him, glancing through his bangs. "S-see you tomorrow."

* * *

Dean found himself pacing the night Sam was supposed to show up. There were numerous ways that Sam couldn't show up. Say, if the amulet didn't work. Or if Sam's father decided to kill Sam. Dean swallowed.

Sam appeared without warning. His face split into a grin at the sight of Dean, despite a newly-swelling eye. "Dean, you're okay."

"Me? You're one to talk."

Sam shrugged. "Just a spat with Ansem. Things only get physical when we come up tied in the mental capacity."

"Talking with you is so weird," Dean commented.

Sam seemed to do a double-take. "You wanted to—to talk about something?" he asked.

Dean clapped his hands together briskly. "That's right. And I think it's really important."

Sam swallowed. "That so?"

"It's about you and your father."

"What about him?"

"Is there any way to kill him?" Dean nearly regretted his blunt words as Sam blanched.

"No, no. There isn't."

Disappointed, Dean stepped back. Stockholm Syndrome? Or had Sam attempted it before? "Are you sure?"

Sam shook his head. "Father's too powerful. It can't be done."

"Pity." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "If he was gone, we'd be free, y'know? Start up a hunting team. Sam and Dean."

Sam looked ridiculously wistful. "That'd be . . . good."

"Well, if wishes were horses," Dean diverted cheerfully. "So, how do you feel about Indiana Jones?"

* * *

Sam was the picture of defensiveness. Dean saw he was nursing a swollen wrist, and had it cradled against his chest.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Dean offered.

"I will. I just . . ." Sam's eyes darted away.

Dean wasn't normally a patient man, but maybe Sam was teaching him. They had been meeting for at least a month, now. Dean leaned back casually, keeping his eyes fixed on Sam.

"The earliest thing I remember is fire. Father taught us that fire meant we had failed. Erred in some way. Leah, I remember her. She was able to make pictures appear in thin air. But she, uh, she tried to run away. And worse, she stole something. Something important from Father."

"Do you know what it was?" Dean asked curiously.

Sam's shoulders were up by his ears. "The other kids thought maybe a weapon. Something dangerous."

"What happened to her?" Dean kept his voice low.

"Fire," Sam said tersely. "When I ran away at seventeen, I thought for sure . . ." Sam swallowed. "Guess he thought I was still useful."

"How did you spend your time?"

"Training. Fighting." Sam glanced at him. "I'm afraid I know some pretty effective torture techniques. And how to resist them."

Dean forced himself to keep his gaze steady. "Way I figure, as long as you didn't enjoy doing it . . ."

Sam's smile was bitter and full of self-hate. "I wish I could say I didn't. But when it was a choice between being tortured myself or becoming the torturer, I gave in all too often. Whatever rosy ideas you have about me, as the only pure and sinless demon, you should get rid of them now. I'm as dirty as the rest of them." Sam spat it out almost defiantly.

"If you're trying to scare me off, you'll have to try harder," Dean said after a pause.

"I just want you to know what I am." Sam had started picking at his ratty jeans.

"We talked about this," Dean said gently. "What you are doesn't matter."

"Just what you do." Sam smiled at him shyly.

Both of them jumped at a banging on the door. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Maybe Bobby's early. He was supposed to be meeting me here later. We're hunting down some vampires."

"Should I . . ." Sam stood.

"Nah, stay. It'll be okay. I'll make sure he doesn't shoot you." Dean opened the door, and found no one outside. "Weird."

"No!" Sam's cry was unexpected, and Dean felt a weird yank at his middle, and somehow he was flying backwards through the air and back into the wall. Dean was pinned.

"Clever. What might you be?" a figure strode into the room, and Dean made out a normal looking guy. Normal except for an extra set of teeth.

"Get out of here," Sam snarled.

"Two little snacks. Don't think we'll be leaving any time soon." Two other vampires entered behind the main one. "Plus, you two are hunters. We kill you now, and voila, our problems are solved."

From what Dean knew, vampires did not have telekinesis. "Sam, let me up," he hissed.

"What if you take me only? I promise Dean won't come after you," Sam offered. At that, Dean growled, struggling against his invisible bonds.

"Likely. What are you, though?"

Everything became a blur again, and Dean found himself thrown in the closet, and something heavy slamming into place in front of the closet. Sure enough, as he struggled to open the door, it wouldn't give.

"Me?" Sam's voice was faintly sardonic. "Me, I'm nobody."

Conversation was over, judging by the snarls, and Dean listened desperately at the sounds of fighting. As silence fell over the room, Dean shoved against the door, but nothing gave. And his calls were not answered. This was not how Dean wanted the hunt to go.

* * *

**A/N: **heh, sorry for the cliffhanger! I'm cruel, I know. Only two chapters left, though! Thanks for hanging around :) Still plugging away at my Unseen 'verse . . . it's going slow, but I'll get there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: nothing explicit, but hints at some pretty dark stuff. **

* * *

Sam dizzily tried to focus on the room. The vampires . . . he had ripped their heads off. That was good. He hadn't even known vampires were real, though. Strange. And there was . . . oh, there was blood coming from his arm. A lot of blood. That was bad. Sam pressed down on his wrist, weakly crying out at the pain. He couldn't think straight. There was a voice coming from the door in the wall . . . the closet. That was important.

A wave of nausea washed over him, and Sam threw up. How had the vampires even gotten him in the arm? Oh, their knife that was in his hand. That was it. Sam knew he should use telekinesis to keep the blood in his body, but he just . . . couldn't . . . focus.

"Dean?"

A new voice. Another vampire? Sam worriedly took a firmer grip on his knife and tried to fight past the fuzziness in his vision. Had to keep everything away from the closet. Had to . . . protect Dean. That was it.

"Don' hurt Dean," he slurred. He raised his knife and noted with dismay his hand was shaking. That was bad.

"What did you do with Dean?"

Sam tried to understand and blinked at the vampire. A renewed noise from the door in the wall made the vampire turn and head for it. With dismay, he remembered that was where Dean was.

"Stay 'way fr'm 'im," he threatened.

The door was opened, and out came Dean. Sam waited for the other person to attack, but they didn't.

Instead, Dean dropped next to him. Sam managed to smile.

"Hey," he said happily.

"You're a self-sacrificing idiot," Dean muttered. Sam whimpered as Dean took a hold of his injured arm and applied pressure. "You've lost a lot of blood."

"Mmm." With a start, Sam remembered the vampire. "Dean, v'mpire. Behind you."

Dean's smile was weak. "That's Bobby, genius."

Sam frowned, trying to remember who Bobby was.

"Dean, has he ingested any blood," the vampire—no, Bobby—said urgently.

"Sam." Warm fingers on his cold cheek turned his head, and Sam rested his head against it willingly. "I need you to focus. Did the vampires feed you blood?"

"Feed? They had a knife," Sam explained.

"I don't think they did, Bobby. We need to get out of here."

"I'm a fool," Bobby grumbled.

"Yeah, we can all be fools together. Sammy, look at me. We're going to move, okay? You've lost a lot of blood, but not too much. We'll get you lying down, give you some fluids."

Sam had no idea what Dean was really saying, but nodded anyway. Seemed like the thing to do.

Sam found himself being pulled up, his good arm thrown over Dean's shoulder. "Dean."

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I have to get back. They'll know I'm gone, an' it'll . . ." Sam's thoughts drifted.

"It can't be helped. You'll make excuses. It'll be okay."

"Jus' don't want the fire. Not again. I can see it, you burning."

"I won't, Sam. Trust me."

Sam latched onto the words. "Trust you. I trust you."

"Bobby, get the door."

Those words didn't make sense, and Sam allowed himself to drift.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes in confusion. "What?"

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Sam figured that had to be a reference to some aspect of popular culture, but couldn't bother trying to figure out what it was. "Where am I?"

"Motel," Dean said.

Sam blanched. "What day is it?"

"You fell asleep yesterday, if that helps."

Sam took in Dean's haggard appearance and the IV inserted in his arm. "Close?"

"Arterial bleed."

"Oh." Sam sat up, ignoring the roaring in his ears as he did so. "I have to go."

"No, you don't. You've lost a lot of blood, Sam. We replaced some of it with the IV, but you have to take it easy."

Sam leveled a heavy glance at Dean. "Dean. I stay, you die. That's the deal." He yanked out the needle, not heeding Dean's protest and his own pain signals.

"Sam, you can't . . ."

"I can, and I will." Sam pulled on his jacket wearily and glanced at Dean. "I'll try and meet you again in a couple days. After this, though . . ." he swallowed. "Goodbye."

"No, Sam—" he heard, but he was gone.

* * *

"Very interesting."

Sam straightened, swiping at the blood dripping from his nose and ears. Ava was grinning at him.

"Ava, you . . ."

"Father's rather upset. He sent us all to look for you. Funny, no one could."

"That right?" Sam sucked in a painful breath and resisted the urge to lean on the wall. Couldn't show any weakness.

"Oh yes. We've been discussing it. Maybe you were actually hiding, huh? What would you have to hide?"

"A way to rip out your intestines," Sam snarled, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his inability to focus on Ava's face.

"Samuel."

Sam stiffened. "Father," he murmured, bowing his head. Ava did the same.

"What is your excuse."

"Whatever I say will not be satisfactory, for I failed you," he said quietly. "I heard a rumor of vampires. I was . . . intrigued. I let my curiosity get the better of me."

"Is that so." Azazel approached. His cold fingers lifted up Sam's chin. Sam made himself focus on the cold yellow eyes without flinching.

"I am sorry, Father," Sam offered.

"For your disobedience and foolery, you shall be the victim this week in training. Ava, you are needed in the dungeon."

Ava smirked at him and then disappeared. Sam quailed under Father's keen look even as he felt the horror of his impending punishment. Only demons played the victim, normally. Torture, rape, pain . . . that would be his reward for helping Dean.

"You have lost much blood. Come."

Sam had no choice but to stumble after Father. To his surprise, Father only went into the kitchen. He was offered a glass, and held it in trembling hands. Sam did his best not to draw back as Azazel slit his own wrist above the cup.

"Drink," Father said softly.

Sam knew he hesitated for a moment too long, as Azazel's gaze grew sharp. But he did as he was told.

He threw up afterwards.

* * *

Sam steeled himself, taking in Andy's worry, Scott, Max, and Lily's boredom, Jake's viciousness, Ava and Ansem's glee. The rest of them were just focused.

"Samuel, you may not use any powers. You are the victim. The rest of you may only attack one at a time."

"Yes, Father," rang out through the room.

"Lily, start."

Lily twitched, focusing in on Sam. Her powers had begun with her touch stopping people's hearts. She had graduated to a kill without touching.

Sam felt a painful squeezing in his heart and stumbled. Pain shot down his arm, and he gasped.

"Enough. Very good, Lily." The pressure eased, and Sam coughed. "Ansem and Andy. Work together."

Andy was glaring at Ansem, so that looked like an impossible attack.

"Choke yourself," Ansem said, his voice layered in a command. Sam automatically threw up his own defenses and avoided listening, but knew his mistake as soon as Azazel growled.

"Jake, teach Sam a lesson."

Jake strode forward and slammed a fist into Sam's shoulder, dislocating it. He followed through with a blow to Sam's jaw and abdomen, leaving Sam curled up in pain on the floor.

"Andy and Ansem. Together."

Sam could hear the regret in Andy's voice, even as he spoke in chorus with Ansem. "Choke yourself."

Sam lifted his own hands and applied pressure on his trachea. Black was encroaching on his vision by the time they released him.

"Ava. Your turn."

Ava liked to summon demons. Sam knew what was coming next, and let himself sink into a darkness as he was ravaged and torn apart in every way possible.

If Dean could see him now, was his bitter thought, for the demon trash that he was.

* * *

It was a whole week before Sam was able to move, let alone think about trying to sneak away and see Dean. He managed to get some privacy, though, as the others were sent on a mission to take out some hunters.

"Dean?" he whispered into the phone.

"Sam? Sam, are you alright?"

Sam didn't answer the question—he hated lying to Dean—just asked Dean if he was free, and was happy to find the answer positive.

"I'll come now." Sam stood shakily and dressed, wearing his most baggy clothes. He tried to ignore how good it made him feel that Dean greeted him with such a relieved expression.

"Geez, give a guy a heart attack, why don't you," he grumbled at Sam. Sam smiled for the first time in a week.

"Heart attacks are pretty common," he murmured, keeping the irony to himself.

"Did they find out?" Dean asked anxiously.

Sam shook his head. "I told them I ran across a vampire nest on my own. They don't know about you."

"What did they do to you?" Dean's question was to the point, and Sam winced.

"Don't worry about it."

Dean scoffed. "Like that'll happen." He reached to grab Sam's bad shoulder, and Sam dodged his hand.

"A little beat up, that's all," he hedged.

Dean gave him a look like he was being stupid. "Dude. I may not be the best at first aid, but I'm guessing those jerks didn't give you the time of day. C'mon, let me help you."

Reluctantly, Sam pulled off his outer shirt. Dean's sharp intake of breath was bad enough—the way he handled Sam like he was made of china was worse.

"Who did this?"

Sam grunted as Dean touched a particularly inflamed part of skin. "Not who, what. Demons. As punishment, I was used as practice for the others."

Dean swore, low and fierce. "Did they hurt you anywhere else?" he asked darkly.

Sam raised his good shoulder and then let it fall. "Nothing time won't heal."

Dean's expression was pained. "Sam, we need to get you out of there."

"Tell me how, and I'll gladly follow," Sam sighed. "I am sick of Cold Oak."

"Cold Oak?"

"Where we live," Sam clarified. "It's a ghost town, mostly because we came in and killed all of the inhabitants."

"We'll figure something out." Dean rubbed an unbruised part of Sam's back comfortingly. "Last time was a fluke."

Sam nodded. "Oh, good news though, with the protection, the others can't find us."

Dean blew out a relieved breath. "That's great news. I'm not one for using spells, but this has come in handy."

Sam glanced at the amulet. "Don't take it off."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know."

"What have you been doing?" Sam asked.

"Aside from worrying about you?" Dean tugged on Sam's hair with a small grin. "Took care of a couple ghosts and one rather upset demon. That exorcism you taught me worked wonders."

By degrees, Sam relaxed. "That's good."

"Victim survived, too," Dean said lightly. Sam winced. He should have remembered that. He was teaching himself to care again, after years of trying to dull his senses and ignore the horrors around him.

"What'd you tell him or her?"

"Just that he'd been roofied. Not much else to say. I'm just glad he didn't take me for a kidnapper or something. The fake badge does come in handy from time to time."

"Wait until someone catches that it's fake. Won't work so well, then." Sam smiled.

Dean puffed himself up. "What, like anyone could figure it out? My work is excellent."

Sam grinned. "Anyone could tell you aren't from Texas. Where's the accent?"

Dean raised a critical eyebrow. "How would you know what a Texan accent is?"

Sam sobered with the reminder. "Assignment there, a couple years back. Had to join a school and pick out victims."

"Not the high school with all the suicides?"

"The very one." Sam cringed.

Dean swore. "We went there. Figured it was an upset ghost, never found a sign of anything."

"That's us. The best band of murderers out there," he said with a bitter smile.

Dean looked at him sideways. "Who did you . . ."

Sam looked at his hand rather than meet Dean's eyes. "Kid with leukemia. I looked into the future. He only had two weeks to live."

"I'm sorry you had to do it, anyway."

Sam looked up in surprise.

"It was a mercy killing, but you still seem pretty torn up about it," Dean explained.

"There's so much blood on my hands," Sam whispered.

Dean said firmly, "you just have to move on and change it as you go."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Sam smiled. "Okay then."

* * *

They got careless. Sam had been able to manage sneaking off for some time, but as he laughed and played cards with Dean, he froze. The electricity skittering across his skin meant a brother or sister was nearby.

"Sam?"

He stood fluidly, flicking his eyes over to Dean and gritting his teeth. "Please don't say anything."

"My my my, Sam, have you made a new friend."

"Get out of here, Ava," Sam snarled.

"But I want to hang out with you guys," she pouted.

"Don't lie."

She smirked. "Okay, you're right. I had to know, though. Why you've been disappearing. Why you've been so preoccupied. But now I have a good explanation. Sam's got himself a new toy."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean's fingers twitch towards his gun.

"It's none of your concern." Sam moved forward a step. "Unless you'd like a face off. Right here, right now."

"Please, Sam. After last week, how my demons practically raped you to death? I think we both know who's the stronger one."

Sam forced himself to smile coldly. "Oh yes. So brave, as you beat up poor defenseless me as Father ensured that I was helpless. But would you like to see me rip apart your demons, piece by piece?" He took another step, causing Ava to flinch back. "And then you'd be next."

Ava put her hands up and grinned. "No skin off my nose, whoever you're playing with. I was interested, is all."

"You'll keep away," Sam threatened. "Or else."

"Uh huh. You have to tell me, though, why? Not so special are you, little boy?" Ava prowled around Sam, heading for Dean. Sam growled, low in his throat, but only drew an amused glance from his sister.

"He tell you not to speak?" Ava placed her small hand on the crux of his neck and shoulder and leaned down. "You keeping him happy?"

"Listen here, sweetheart, I don't know what you're playing at, but it seems to me that I have no reason to pay any attention to you," Dean smirked.

Ava's face darkened, and Sam flinched as her hand tightened briefly on Dean's throat.

"So, Sam won't share. Won't Father be glad to hear about this?"

"Ava," Sam warned.

Ava practically simpered. "C'mon, Sam. Gotta give me something, here. What will it be?"

"You can use my blood for any spells necessary," Sam offered.

"Mm. Good. Anything else?" she said sweetly.

Sam hesitated. "What would you have me give?" he asked finally.

"I'd say a finger."

Sam heard Dean's gasp when he held out his hand, but pressed with telekinesis slightly, holding Dean back.

"Don't move," Ava warned, whipping out her small silver knife. She didn't hesitate as she sliced off his pinky. "Pleasure doing business, Sam." Ava disappeared with a grin.

Dean immediately became vocal. "Dude! Your finger, you didn't . . ."

"Yeah, Dean, I did." Wearily, Sam stopped the blood flow with his powers. "At least she didn't demand my whole hand."

Dean's silence was unnerving, and Sam stole a glance. Dean looked flabbergasted.

"What?" Sam asked uncomfortably.

"Why?" Dean croaked.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "She would've killed you otherwise."

For a moment, there was complete silence. Then Dean nodded jerkily, obviously moving away from the topic of Sam's finger. "Right. So, we need to talk about you using TK on me without permission." He moved forward and began to wrap up Sam's hand.

Sam winced. "I won't apologize for that. I'd rather use my powers on you than have you die."

Dean grumbled under his breath. "I thought you'd say something like that."

Sam laughed, and then switched to a scowl. "Ava followed me, somehow," he hypothesized aloud. Sliding away from Dean's grip, he began rummaging through his pockets and jacket. Within seconds, he held up a minuscule bag. A hex bag.

"Lighter," he said tersely.

Dean passed it to him, silently observing as Sam burned the bag to ashes.

"Too close," Sam murmured, gingerly seating himself on the edge of the bed and staring at his now-mutilated hand. "Ava won't stay quiet."

"You sure?"

"Very sure. Ava always lies."

"Funny, from looking at her, I would think she'd be nice," Dean observed.

Sam laughed darkly. "That's what we all thought. She was the best of us, always helping out and being nice. Then she killed Xavier on her ninth birthday. Because he pulled on her hair."

Dean swallowed. "Nice girl."

"Yeah."

* * *

**A/N: **Prepare yourself, folks, finale going down next Saturday! I hope it doesn't disappoint. I'm a bit worried about everyone's reactions, especially since I crammed the whole thing into one chapter. Not sure why, I just did. I'll use the rest of the week to fine tune it (hopefully. don't kill me).


	6. Chapter 6

"Should go to Cold Oak and visit Sam."

Dean had known it was a mistake five seconds after he closed his mouth. He only took so long to realize it because he was half-way to drunk, but he definitely, should not have mentioned Sam. Sam-I-Am, like the book.

Man, he was drunk.

"This the demon kid Bobby mentioned, in Cold Oak?"

Dean felt a little betrayed, at that. He had trusted Bobby to keep his mouth shut. Apparently not.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" Dean muttered, staring at his glass. Like that would hide him from the accusatory glare in his father's eyes.

"Dean. Come straight with me. Is Sam the only demon?"

"Sam's not a demon," Dean complained, "just half. Not his fault."

John slammed a fist down on the table. "That's not the point, Dean. Are there others?"

"Yeah."

His dad cursed. "Have they been the cause of anything?"

Dean had lied to his Dad before for Sam, but he couldn't with this. He apologized to Sam in his head, and murmured "yes."

"Tell me everything you know, Dean."

Dean caved, like the coward he was.

* * *

Dean woke up, and his Dad was gone. Swearing violently, he managed to fumble for his phone and call him.

"Dad, what are you doing?" he snapped.

"What needs to be done, Dean. Are you in?"

Fear coiled, visceral, in Dean's stomach. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Going after the demon and his kids. Getting a group together to do it. We could use you, son."

Dean hesitated, for one second. He could see it. Going in. Taking down the demon. Killing the kids. Killing Sam.

"Not gonna happen," he choked out.

"You're making a mistake, Dean. Whatever lies this kid Sam has been telling you, they're not true. He'll just betray you." John was using his most reasonable voice, the one that always got Dean to take his side in the past.

"Dad, you're wrong about him," Dean managed. "His father, he needs to be stopped, but Sam's innocent."

"You know you're lying, Dean. I can hear it in your voice."

"Well, I don't care," Dean said, letting finality seep into his voice. "I'm not letting you hurt him."

He snapped the phone shut before his Dad could say anything else, before considering and re-opening it. Sam had to know.

The phone rang a worryingly long time—okay, just three rings—and then a click sounded.

"Sam? Sam, this is an emergency, we have to—"

"Well, well, well. Sam's pet. You two are adorable. Would you like to say hi to him?"

Dean flinched at an anguished scream. "Ava," he snarled, "let him go."

"Mmm, I don't think so." Ava sounded amused. "You come to us, and then we negotiate. Tell us your location."

Dean secreted a couple paperclips, blades, and guns onto his person as he rattled off the coordinates.

"See you soon," Ava said.

Dean turned and found two guys considering him, similar-looking enough to be brothers.

"Can't see the attraction, myself," one smirked.

"Shut up, Ansem," the other growled. "Let's just do this."

Dean had no time to react before they had both reached forward, and the ground was yanked away from under his feet.

Melodramatic was not a word Dean liked to use in regards to himself, but the gasp he let out at finding himself in a ghost town with the two guys was definitely that.

"Walk."

Dean, annoyed, found himself unable to resist the command, and figured the kid had used the same mojo that Sam had on him earlier.

Half of the houses looked destroyed by a nuclear bomb or something equally destructive. Only one was completely intact and relatively modern looking, and the three of them moved toward it.

"You guys live here?" Dean asked mildly.

"Shut up," the one—Ansem—hissed, and Dean couldn't make another sound.

"You can speak," the other snapped. "Ansem, I can handle him. Go to the others."

Ansem sneered, but left.

"What's your name?" Dean tried.

"Andy."

Dean blinked. "Oh. Sam's mentioned you."

Andy immediately stiffened. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded. "Sounded like you were friends."

"Friends?" Andy raised his eyebrows. "Nobody is friends, here."

Dean waited until Andy reached out to open the door and made his move. Thankfully, neither of them had put a command on him to not fight.

"Sorry, kid." Dean kept a steady pressure around Andy's throat, on the carotid, until he passed out, and lowered him down gently. Glancing at the door, Dean took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

* * *

The house was intimidatingly silent and empty.

Until a scream ripped through the air.

Dean was an idiot. He recognized that fact, and moved on.

Kicking the door down was easy. So was pointing the gun.

And predictably, the gun was wrenched from his grasp by invisible fingers and Dean was slammed into the wall.

"Well, well, well. Ansem, go check on your brother, huh?"

Dean did his best to glare.

"Samuel, look, your little friend's here." The demon strode forward until he was nose to nose with Dean. "I have to say, I don't see why Samuel found the need to make friends with a hunter, of all people."

"I have to say, I don't see why your eyes are yellow. Does it make you feel special?" Dean remarked snidely.

"Cute." Sam's father grinned and moved away, allowing Dean to focus past him.

The room was lined with people about Sam's age, Sam among them, standing tall and silent. Dean held back Sam's name and remained silent, narrowing his eyes at the demon.

"Ava here tells me you said there was an emergency on the phone. Care to illuminate the rest of us?"

"No."

"Mm hmm. Vicky?"

A mousy looking girl stepped forward from the ring and cocked her head at Dean.

"A group of hunters, headed straight for us," she said clearly.

"Fascinating. I suppose Sam revealed our location?"

Despite Dean's attempts to focus on Sam and nothing else, the girl was still able to read his mind. "Yes."

"What's your name, hunter?" the demon addressed him.

Dean thought about resistance, but realized there was no point. "Dean Winchester."

The demon's eyes seemed to spark. "Is that right? Well, that is interesting."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, mostly as a distraction to keep him talking.

Sam's eyes were following the demon. He had yet to acknowledge Dean, aside from their initial eye contact.

"Dean Winchester. Samuel. Your . . ." the demon reached Dean and touched his face. "Brother."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"What?" Sam echoed.

"Oh yes. Samuel Winchester. Reunited with your darling brother. It's like a fairy tale."

Dean pulled against the unseen force pressing him into the wall. "You're lying," he declared.

"Am I?" The demon grinned. "Samuel Winchester. Buried with your dear mother, Mary Winchester, but they never found any remains. It was the night I took Samuel as my own."

The other kids were looking a little startled.

"You're not my father?" Sam asked. Dean noticed that he was trembling, just very very slightly.

"Oh, my blood runs through your veins, but your parents are his," the demon said idly.

"And us?"

The husky voice came from a tall, dark kid.

The demon started, as if just remembering that the room was full of people.

"You know you are all my children," he said grandly. "Who your parents are, is not the issue."

Dean took the opportunity to look at Sam. Their eyes met, and Dean waited for some recognition, some sign, but was startled by the coldness in Sam's gaze. For the first time, doubt began to creep in. Maybe he had judged Sam wrong. Maybe the demon's hold was too powerful, and Sam had caved.

"Enough of this." The demon gestured rather violently. "There is work to be done. Ava, Jake, Scott, Max, you capture the hunters as soon as they arrive. The rest of you, prepare the dungeons. Samuel, stay with me."

The others vanished as if they had never stood there.

"As for you, hunter." The demon drew close to Dean and smiled. "A nice slow death, so you can see daddy dearest before you die." A knife slashed down across Dean's forearm, leaving a cut that slowly bled. Dean noted absently that the demon was precise enough to just hit a vein, not an artery. Very slow death indeed.

The demon snapped its fingers. "Bring him, Sam."

Dean couldn't stop himself from whispering, "Sam?" as—his brother?—Sam stepped to the wall and grabbed Dean's shoulder.

"Silence," was all Sam said, and Dean was flung unceremoniously over Sam's shoulder.

Too soon, Dean found himself chained to a wall. And slowly losing blood, as time passed.

* * *

Shouting was overhead. Dean dazedly realized that the sounds were of fighting. And his arm hurt. Leaking blood . . . he was leaking blood. That was bad.

"Dean?"

Dean focused blearily. "Hey, Dad."

John swore and yanked against the hold the tall black guy had on his arms.

"Don't, or I'll snap it like a toothpick," the demon kid hissed.

Dean took in the line of hunters with a sinking feeling in his stomach. All of the best—John, Bobby, Caleb, Jim . . .

"Isn't this wonderful." The demon was back, yellow eyes flaring bright. "I think we're going to have fun. Let's start simple, yes? Samuel, kill Dean."

Dean vaguely heard the hunters violent protestations and threats, but found himself focusing on Sam as he stepped forward from the ranks. Eyes dark, hands bloody, expression dead . . . Dean had bet on the wrong horse. But when it came down to it, he would have done the same thing all over again. Sam was his brother.

"Go ahead, Samuel."

Sam's eyes flicked over to the demon, and then back to Dean.

"It's okay, Dean," he said, and Dean blinked, unsure if the blood loss was making him hear things. "I got him."

Sam whirled and lifted his hand up, spread as if to ward off the demon. The demon twitched and gasped. "Samuel, what are you—"

"No more," Sam said tightly. "You're not my father."

The demon roared, an inhuman noise that seemed to rip through the air and hit Sam. Sam stumbled, his hand dipping down for a moment.

"Children, kill him," the demon commanded.

Dean choked out a cry of warning as Ava leapt forward, but Sam had no time to react as a dagger was buried in his ribs.

"No!" the shout was from Andy, who pounced on Ava. The others shifted, hesitancy in all of their movements.

Sam had fallen to his knees, the knife embedded in his body, but his arm was still outstretched. The demon was twitching, black smoke coming out in wisps from his mouth.

"You cannot beat me. I am Azazel, the strongest of all demons."

"And your time is done." The voice came from another one of the kids, who approached the demon and touched him. Dean could see the sparks jumping from his fingertips, and Sam's exorcism seemed to regain new strength.

"No more," another whispered, and snapped his fingers. The chains fell off of all the hunters.

"No!" Ansem shot towards the kid and the two exchanged blows.

A high scream split the air and Dean snapped his gaze over to Andy and Ava. Andy was being ripped apart by a shadowy demon as Ava held her head and concentrated.

Then the one who had been holding John stepped up behind Ava and snapped her neck. "You lose," he hissed.

A roar caused the chaos to come to a halt. Dean watched in amazement as fire engulfed the demon's host as the last of the smoke trickled out. And Sam . . .

Sam collapsed.

"Sam!" Dean dizzily shoved himself forward, only to find himself held back by strong arms. "No, let me . . . Sam! Sammy!"

"Dean, he's a demon, you can't—"

"Dean." Sam coughed, a wet, painful-sounding noise. "Dean."

The hands loosened, and Dean was immediately at his side. "Sammy. Sammy, hold on, you're gonna be fine." He pressed down around the knife, worriedly taking in the blood flowing from Sam's nose and the corner of his mouth.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"For what, Sammy?" Dean asked, trying to keep his attention from fading. Sam's rolling eyes found his.

"Sorry I didn't stop him . . . earlier. Your blood." Sam's eyes had slipped to Dean's wrist.

"Little scratch like this? Dude, it's nothing." Dean pressed down a little harder and Sam twisted with a moan. "You hang in there, okay? We're gonna get you to a hospital, get this all fixed up."

"I'm so sorry, Dean. For everything."

"Well," Dean swallowed. There was so much blood. "I dunno. I mean, we're family." He swallowed. "Right?"

"Brothers," Sam whispered. "I'm sorry."

Dean jerked. "What?"

"You're a hunter. A good man. I can't even . . . how can you be related to something like me?" Sam coughed, and a little more blood dribbled down the side of his face.

"Sam." Dean waited until his . . . his brother's eyes met his. "There's no one else I'd rather have as my brother."

Sam gave a shaky half-sob, half-laugh. "Not even in my wildest dreams," he murmured, almost to himself. His eyes rolled back into his head, and Dean choked.

"Sammy. No, Sam, no."

"Dean."

He flinched at the reminder that there were others, and looked up to find all of the demon children and hunters watching them.

One of them twitched forward. A girl. The one who had read his mind . . . Vicky?

"We'll take Sam, now."

"No." Dean pulled Sam closer even as he kept pressure. "You won't."

"We can take him to a hospital." Vicky nodded to one of the others—the one that had helped Sam with the demon's exorcism—and they both drew close. "He needs a hospital."

"Fine." Dean touched Sam's forehead briefly. He looked the girl in the eye. "Take care of him."

Only after Sam was gone did Dean allow himself to pass out from the blood loss.

* * *

"Dean?"

Blinking slowly, Dean brought his father's face into focus. "Dad?"

John smiled, an expression tinged with the desperate relief that Dean recognized from other close calls. "Hey, son. Time to wake up, huh?"

Dean groaned and slipped his elbows underneath himself. "Guh. What happened?"

"We all made it out. Demon kids are still in Cold Oak."

"You let them stay?"

His Dad twitched. "It's a work in progress. Several of them are being held by the others, and we've set up a perimeter."

"Sam?"

"In this hospital, being guarded by Jim."

Dean took his first glance around. "Oh."

"We're not finished, about Sam."

Dean steeled himself. "Right."

"But not right now. You look like you were run over by a truck."

Dean smiled wryly. "Thanks."

His father clasped him briefly on the shoulder before leaving. Dean waited a total of one minute—he counted—before yanking his IV and slipping out.

"I'm looking for a Sam," he said to the desk nurse. Thankfully he was still fully clothed, so she didn't give him a second glance.

"Last name?"

"Not actually sure. Stab wound. Guy was mugged, I was there. Wanted to check on him."

She looked bored and over-worked, which was to Dean's advantage. "Second floor, room thirty." It was too easy, but Dean wasn't complaining.

* * *

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam flinched and stared. "Dean?"

Dean tried to smile. "The one and only."

Sam fidgeted. "So, they won't tell me what happened to the others."

"Yeah, I think it's a stalemate." Dean dropped into the chair by Sam's bed. "Kids are holed up at Cold Oak."

"Ah." Sam worried at the blanket with his fingertips. "Are you okay?"

"All patched up." Dean leaned forward. "You were stabbed, Sam. Are you okay?"

Sam nodded jerkily. "Doctor said I was lucky. Knife didn't hit anything too vital."

"So what's wrong?"

"Huh?"

Dean smiled wryly. "I may not be Mr. Sensitive, but I can tell something's wrong. Is it your friend? Andy?"

Sam pulled up one shoulder. "I guess. And I . . . I don't know what to do."

"Do about what?"

"Azazel's dead." Sam's voice held a tinge of wonder and fear. "He controlled my entire life. Now . . ." Sam's fingers twitched, drawing Dean's attention to the stump of one before he focused.

"Well, what about me?"

Sam flicked his eyes up. "What do you mean?"

"Older brother, here. Doesn't that mean I get some say? Y'know, like getting to dye your hair and stuff."

Sam furrowed his brows. "Is that a tradition?"

"Dude, it's a joke." The air was so much lighter, now, and Dean allowed himself to ruffle Sam's hair affectionately. "You're alive. I'm alive. And you just happen to be my little brother come back from the dead in a non-zombie fashion. I say that deserves a celebration, no freaking out, okay?"

Sam's dimples peeked out as he smiled shyly. "I'm good with that. And the others?"

Dean shrugged. "Won't be easy, but we'll figure something out."

Sam nodded.

Dean considered his personal masculinity briefly before sighing and giving up. "Okay, so do I get a pass on chick flick moments if I hug you right now? Recent death and newly-found brother, y'know?"

Sam's eyes gained a little spark, though the spark looked very close to tears. "Well, then I get a free hug tomorrow."

"Don't be such a bitch," Dean groaned, and hitched himself onto the edge of the bed, carefully pulling Sam close.

"Jerk," Sam mumbled into his collarbone, a slight dampness growing on Dean's shoulder, and Dean, for once, didn't even care if anyone saw the grin on his face.

Dean had never pegged himself as an optimist, but he was kinda looking forward to the next day, and possibly the days following that. And that . . . well, that was a little bit awesome.

"Sammy," he said, just to say it.

"Dean Winchester," Sam replied.

"Last name?" Dean asked.

"My last name," Sam laughed wetly. "Sam Winchester."

"Such a girl," he groused.

"You're the one hugging me."

"True." Dean settled himself more comfortably on the narrow hospital bed. "Remind me to make fun of myself when I wake up."

"Deal," Sam murmured, and Dean was smiling as he fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N: **Am I a complete sap?

Yes, yes I am.

I swear, I was planning on it being tragic, Sam dying, etc etc, but I caved into the part of me that loves schmoop and snuggling and happy endings. *sigh* I'm such a wimp.

Well, it's done! Finally! Thank all of you so much for sticking with me-your reviews have really kept me going, and I appreciate the support so much. I hope this doesn't disappoint.

Until my next fic! :)


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